


Comfort Zone

by Fudgyokra



Series: Kinktober 2018 [1]
Category: DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: (Just a little bit), Age Difference, Age Play, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Begging, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Fuckbuddies, Hate Sex, Humiliation, Knifeplay, Light Masochism, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Under-negotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-18 23:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16128686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: Weakly, Dick settled on repeating his earlier sentiment: "This is /not/ part of our usual routine."





	Comfort Zone

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun doing Kinktober last year that I decided I'd do it again! My Tumblr poll showed that SladeDick was the number one choice for the ship I should start with, so here they are for my first fill of the month. I included some…miscellaneous kinks as well. Anyway, let me know who I should write next! ;)
> 
> Day 3: Sensory Deprivation | Temperature Play | Edgeplay* | Knife Play*

Dick had his reasons for allowing himself to fall into Slade’s clutches. It wasn’t an accident that the man had him pinned to the wall with just one hand on the back of his neck and the other on his left hip, because it wasn’t the first time they’d done this. Dick tried not to remind himself that it could only be called an accident once.

“Let go,” he said without conviction. It wasn’t as if he were angry, but simply inconvenienced.

“Not this time, my little Robin,” Slade replied with a sickly-sweet voice.

Dick’s blood ran cold. Every time they did this, they were careful not to hearken back to old times. Dick hadn’t been Robin in years, and Slade hadn’t liked him all that much when he _was_ , so why the sudden change in tempo? “Don’t be a creep,” he made himself say, as he squirmed against the man’s grip.

The hand on Dick’s hip squeezed, then slowly slid between his legs. “Now isn’t the time to act stiff, _boy_.”

Despite himself, Dick shivered at the nickname and the touch alike. “This isn’t—we didn’t discuss this, Sl—” But his voice abruptly went mute when the hand on the back of his neck disappeared and the sound of fabric ripping filled the air. He was a little ashamed of the gasp he emitted. “Did you just tear my costume?” he asked, equal parts astonished and annoyed.

“Hush,” Slade commanded, pushing Dick’s head back against the wall when he tried to turn around. He hated the thrill that ran along his spine at the rough contact but hated that he was getting hard beneath Slade’s hand even more.

He heard more fabric ripping apart, but it wasn’t until the chilly air hit his exposed backside that he realized what Slade was doing. “You’re paying to have this tailored,” he huffed, perhaps less angrily than he’d meant it to sound.

Then he felt the _knife_. Slade pressed the blade too firmly against his Adam’s apple, and Dick fought not to swallow hard, so he could keep from nicking himself. “Hey…” he croaked, trying once more to wriggle out of the grasp, only for the knife to press closer, breaking the skin with a thin twinge of pain.

“You don’t listen very well, do you, kid?” The man lifted the pressure on Dick’s neck so he could breathe and speak freely again, but the relief was extinguished when the tip of the knife trailed down the ridges of his spine. “I’ll tell you what,” Slade purred in his ear. “If you act sweet for daddy, I won’t leave you with a limp.”

Again, Dick felt a thrill go through him, this one more intense than the first. In tandem, a flush of shame crept across his face and down his neck.  “I – I,” he stammered, hating himself for losing this battle so easily. Weakly, he settled on repeating his earlier sentiment: “This is _not_ part of our usual routine.”

“No, it isn’t,” Slade agreed. Dick can hear the grin in his voice. “Now hold still, Robin, or this might hurt.”

Dick wanted to object to the old nickname, as it brought back far-too-clear memories of his youth, but, then, he supposed that was the point. Slade always did love to push boundaries, and there was no reason for sex to be any different.

“Fuck y— _oh_ ,” he gasped again when a dry, gloved finger pressed between his cheeks and circled his hole. It took a second to regain control of his words, but by the time he had, the tip of the finger crooked into him just the slightest bit. It was enough to be intrusive and unpleasant, but not painful. “Don’t you dare, you cretin,” he managed to spit out, sounding more breathless than he’d like to be for such little stimulation. Something about the panic and the shame welling within him, combined with the idea that he was so utterly out of control of the situation, made him absurdly hot under the collar.

He seemed to play right into Slade’s little game, because the man chuckled—a low, deep rumble that vibrated against Dick’s ear before he pulled away entirely, leaving a cold, empty space behind. “Beg me,” he said, just before forcing the finger deeper inside. The bite of leather against Dick’s raw, unprepared insides did little to diminish his erection, which was as ridiculous to him as it was embarrassing, but he wasn’t about to let it go further than that. He had to _walk_ to do his job properly, after all.

“Please, don’t,” he groaned, but his legs spread further apart of their own accord.

Slade hummed as if in thought, when Dick really knew he was just being contrary. “It doesn’t _look_ like you want me to stop. You’re going to have to be a little more convincing than that.”

Dick’s heart jackhammered in his chest, but he couldn’t make his voice work right. Pushing personal boundaries was one thing, pushing physical limits was another.

The finger withdrew for a split-second of relief, only to be replaced with two. Dick’s breath stuck audibly in his throat, and he screwed his eyes closed, resting his forehead against the arm he had perched on the wall. “ _Ah_ , wait—” he breathed. “I can’t—not so fast.” Ignoring him, Slade pumped the fingers in and out, sending a pinch of pain through his system with each pass. Dick didn’t mean to, but a crackly, “ _Fuck_ ,” tumbled from his lips before he could stop it.

Slade’s free hand slipped into his ruined suit and wormed its way to the front, where it curled around Dick’s cock with a grip that was a little too strong and made him keen, against his better judgement. “Wait, no…” he ground out, feeling ridiculously overstimulated for someone of his sexual history. What was wrong with him? This whole scenario couldn’t possibly be turning him on as much as it did.

“And why not, pretty bird? Afraid daddy will make you feel good?”

Dick made a sound he was loath to call a whine. God, _that_ should not be as alluring as it was, either. Some deep, fucked-up part of him responded to it, though, creating a coil in his gut like a fiery rope. “Wait, Slade, _please_ ,” he begged, risking a glance behind at Slade’s face—no, his mask. He hadn’t even taken the damned mask off, the jerk. Still, the humiliating feeling of subjugation only wound the rope tighter.

“Please what?” the man asked, cruelly indifferent. But Dick knew him well enough to sense the amusement, the _smile_ hidden beneath that stoic air. Slade added a third finger, and it _hurt_ , god it hurt, but Dick was panting against the wall nonetheless, thighs quaking.

He’d forgotten all about the knife until it was back at his throat, and he cursed the fact he hadn’t realized Slade must have stowed it in his utility belt while he was…otherwise occupied. There hadn’t ever been a clatter of it hitting the ground. Dick really should have been paying closer attention.

“Come on, show daddy some love.” Slade worked the gloved fingers in and out of him in a rough rocking motion, painful enough in its unending abuse that Dick’s erection had finally softened to half-mast.

He grit his teeth against the sensation as well as the reluctance making him hold his tongue. The blade moved closer to his already-wounded throat, encouraging the admittance to come out, but he still held steadfast, unwilling to cross that line.

“At least use lube, you fucking jackass!” he cursed with renewed vigor.

Slade paused in his ministrations, then chuckled as he finally dropped the weapon, favoring his hand now to close around Dick’s throat. Forcefully, he jerked his head back, choking off his air supply with bruising pressure. His cut pulsed with pain, but it paled in comparison to the sting in his ass, where three of Slade’s fingers were spreading him far too quickly, and dry, to boot.

“ _Please_ ,” he tried again, his voice a humiliating croak. His fingers clawed at Slade’s, then dropped to the man’s arm to try and hold him still, to no avail. He felt the muscles twitch, felt them work at opening him up, however unwillingly his body was to accommodate.

“Come on, baby, you know what I want,” Slade cooed, back in his ear once more. As if encouraging him, he released the pressure on Dick’s throat, until it was a barely-there brush of skin.

“No way,” he insisted. “You _freak_.”

But, as always, pushing the limits of his comfort zone was what Slade did best. A near-ticklish burst of pleasure racked his system at the next twist of Slade’s fingers, and even if the pain was still evident, the new stimulation was more than welcome. If only the man would use the damn lube, this might actually go somewhere, Dick thought with an involuntary snarl.

Before he could blink, Slade lifted the hand jerking him out of his suit and used it to slam his face back into the wall. The burst of pain made him see stars, but the thick pads of Slade’s leather-clad fingers prodding harder against his prostate won out this time, and Dick moaned, long and low, at the feeling.

“That’s it,” Slade said, his own breathing a little ragged now, “good boy.”

The tail end of Dick’s moan curved up into a shocked whine, despite himself. And, goddamn Slade, Dick was fully hard again at the praise. _This_ was nowhere in the rules they’d set when they first began doing what they were doing, and something about the unpredictability made the desire crank up and up and _up_ in Dick’s system. If he wasn’t careful, he might—

He couldn’t stop the watery little, “ _Nooo_ ,” when Slade withdrew his fingers, leaving his hole fluttering around nothing, craving anything.

“You’re in a bad way, aren’t you, Robin?” The voice was clearer now, signaling that Slade had lifted his mask. This time, Dick didn’t even bother trying to twist around and face him head-on. “Look at you, close to bursting.”

“I’m not,” he breathed more than said, denying the accusation despite its truthfulness. “And you’re a bastard.”

“A bastard who’s about to make it hard for you to walk,” Slade replied pleasantly.

Dick heard the telltale zip of the man’s fly coming undone, then felt the heat of his cock pressing against him. “That’s—you can’t be serious,” he floundered, trying to straighten up to his full height, only for Slade to grasp his hips—hands finally bare—and yank them back into an exposing tilt. He was about to try again when the man planted one palm on the center of his back and pushed, forcing Dick to arch and put himself further on display.

“You should know by now that I don’t play,” Slade said, pushing the head of his cock in past the first ring of muscles.

Dick hissed at the burn, swiping his leg back in an aimless kick that did no damage at all. “Wait, just wait a second! Jesus—” But Slade didn’t, only kept pressing in until Dick finally caved. “Stop!” he exclaimed, voice tight.

Slade hummed, running a soothing hand up the back of Dick’s thigh, over the swell of his ass. “I’m waiting for the magic word.”

“Can’t do it without lube,” he admitted, hanging his head between his outstretched arms before adding a defeated, “Please.”

One hand snuck back into the front of the suit, fingers brushing up against him now, stroking with feather-light touches. “Please what?” Slade asked sternly as he stroked him.

Dick let out another shaky moan. “Please—please, _daddy_.”

Bingo. Slade’s inhalation was sharp and satisfied when he retracted both hands and reached into his utility belt. The pop of a cap being undone sent waves of relief crashing through Dick—so intense, in fact, that he’d nearly forgotten what they were doing before he felt the heavy weight of Slade’s cock back against his hole, wet and cold with the lubricant.

“You— _nngh_ —you’re not gonna—” But the question was lost to the wind when Slade pushed in again, raw and fast. Dick cried out, summoning the will to reach back and smack Slade hard on one arm. “You douche!” he snapped. “That still _hurts_.”

But it hurt significantly less, and the faint stinging drag of skin-on-skin improved with every shallow thrust, each one sheathing more and more of the man inside him. Eventually Dick was rocking his hips back onto the intrusion, anticipating the escalation of pleasure he got whenever they did this—when they truly let loose, unbeknownst to the world.

The idea of how familiar he was with the sensation of being filled made him ashamed, doubly so with the idea that it was Deathstroke he allowed to do this to him. Now that he realized he couldn’t escape it being just another disgusting thing he was aroused by, he ignored the flush in his cheeks and groaned out a sincere, “Yes, daddy! God, it feels good.”

“Yeah?” Slade muttered, increasing his pace. “Should’ve known you’d bend over nice and pretty for me, kid. Even when I’m pushing your buttons, you beg for my cock.”

More hideous pleasure, combined with visceral self-hatred, glanced blows at Dick’s already-cracked ego. It was like some other person lurking inside his head took the wheel, though, and he found himself nearly drooling at the sentiment. “Yes, yes, _yes_ ,” he chanted, punctuated with another guttural moan.

The angle shifted, thrusts growing more erratic, each one jabbing mercilessly at Dick’s prostate now. “Fuck!” he cursed, curling his fingers into his palms, which were still bearing down on the wall to keep him upright. Slade’s harsh grip on his hips did the rest. “Right there, daddy! Right there, don’t stop, don’t!”

Slade offered an emphatic, “ _Christ,_ ” before driving in harder, once, twice, three times, and then—Dick tried to swallow a sob as he came, but it didn’t make an ounce of difference, because the choked sound that came out instead is still far more than enough to bring Slade over the edge with him in just a few more rough strokes.

“Nnng, hell,” Dick panted, drooping against the wall a little. He eyed the mess he’d made on it with a wrinkle of his nose. “I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life,” he asserted tiredly.

Slade grunted one clipped, amused laugh before pulling out and landing a fond smack on Dick’s ass. That, at least, was so commonplace that Dick didn’t even flinch. “You just needed someone to loosen you up, birdie,” he answered with overwhelming smugness.

Dick rolled his eyes and straightened himself out with a wince. “The knife was a little much,” he shot back, looking down at his tattered suit. “And I meant what I said, by the way. You are _so_ paying for the tailor.”

“Sure,” he answered casually as he plucked a tissue from his stash and cleaned himself off. “Never say daddy doesn’t take care of you.” A flush overtook Dick in seconds, and he found himself scowling. “Same time next week, I assume,” Slade continued, unconcerned.

There was a short pause. Then, finally, Dick sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “Same time next week.”


End file.
